Hollow, Hollow Bones
by Captain Harley Quinn
Summary: He is going to die. He can feel it, he can feel it in the rattle of his hollow bones and in the pounding of his head. If dying means being tortured but still refusing to give information about his pack, than so be it.


Hollow, Hollow Bones

He is going to die. He can feel it, he can feel it in the rattle of his hollow bones and in the pounding of his head. If dying means being tortured but still refusing to give information about his pack, than so be it.

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own **_**Teen Wolf**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not mine.**

Warnings: Creeper Gerard is a creeper. Gerard Is Creepy. Stiles is the awesome motherfucker he usually is. Stiles feels. Graphic torture. Graphic violence. Interrogation. Mentions of Peter Hale - (the sassy uncle whose got a boner for Stiles)

_Authors Note: I don't even know what this is. What is this? I think I was bored and this happened. Oops, I fic'ed._

Hollow, Hollow Bones

It was strange, how death held no fear for him.

Perhaps it was because his life had become nothing but death and murder and lying and spying; perhaps how it was how his heart no longer ached when he saw his fathers face fall when his only son lied straight to his face; perhaps it was how his sadness was no longer all encompassing, but rather left numb and cold like a singular shell of who he had once been.

Cold and dark with a ruthless edge as light amber turned to a dark ember, almost on par with the shining madder of Alpha Eyes. He had changed, and perhaps it wasn't for the best but Stiles knew that such sacrifices was needed when upon the brink of war.

For they _were_ on the brink of war, even before Gerard Argent had trapped and than slaughtered an omega with an actual declaration of war. No, their war had long been waging, but it had come to a head with the death of Alpha Laura Hale, murdered by her own Uncle for her power and when Peter had killed Kate Argent, the hunter responsible for the death of their entire family not even Derek would have begrudged his uncle such a thing for he too sought vengenace and if violence was the only way, then so be it.

But the war had forced them to pull rank around each other them into a makeshift pack that only made Stiles realize just how _alone_ he really was. He was the sole human in a pack of wolves; and when you ran with wolves you had to be prepared to be bitten.

Derek had done his best, trying to pull Erica and Isaac into some form of a decent wolf, Boyd had turned into the Alpha's most trusted Beta, even before Scott who Stiles knew Derek held a personal connection too due to the fact that Scott had been bitten by the prior Alpha.

They were pack, and pack was family.

Perhaps that was why he was not particularly surprised when a black leather bag was ripped from his head, allowing him to reach the sweet air he so desperately craved. His mind was a turbulence of emotion and logical questions and mathematical equations on how his odds were, he may not have been like Lydia - smart to an almost extreme with mathematical equations - but he was at least compatent; something that most people, even the pack, tended to forget.

But with that, Stiles was not really worried; he was the joker, the wild card in which no one would expect. He was the shadow, the threat which would never be seen coming, like a snake about to attack. Perhaps Peter had been right, when they had stood alone in that concrete garage as Peter had caressed Stiles' wrist as his fangs inched closer, perhaps he was born to be a wolf. _Wolf Hart_ was what Peter had purred, a possessive note in his voice that had made Stiles shiver.

Too be honest, Stiles hated the smug - but attractive, he conceded - bastard, even more so when he kept calling Stiles Wolf Hart and kept teasingly fanging him.

"Stilinski," A sharp voice barked, dragging him out of his stupour. Amber eyes rose to meet the cold blues of Gerard Argent, wind swept and a little worn but all together much more triumphant and smug that Stiles had ever really seen him. Gerard moved, circling him like one would their prey. It was when he tried to turn to keep Gerard in his eyesight that he realized he was bound to a sturdy wooden chair, hands cuffed with flexicuffs and what seemed to be a collar around his neck which was emitting a low beeping sound which made his heart beat just that little bit faster. In front of him, large and worn was a pail of water, freezing by the looks of the numerous ice cubes littering it's surface.

Behind his back, Stiles' fists clenched curling inwards so that his short but sharp nails bit into his skin; he knew where this was going.

"Where is your pack," A demand, rather than a question. A question that Stiles was quite reluctant to answer.

But his silence cost him, having apparently lost his grip on his all too short temper, Gerard struck with the strength of a boa constricter, all muscle and intent to land a vicious back hand to the humans cheek, making Stiles' head flash to the side, pain blossoming in his tearing eyes. He tasted blood as his head lolled forward, looking up at the Argent through his long eyelashes.

Gerard, furious and quick tempered only let out a fustrated growl that sent the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck upwards as they themselves shivered. The hunter was obviously in no mood to play as after that one question he grasped the back of Stiles shirt, scruffing it and forcing the teen forward to kneel on the hardwood flooring in what he recognised to be the Argents dining room, in front of the large pail of water.

"You will tell me where your pack is," Gerard growled again, a strong hand on the back of the humans head. Stiles only shook his head.

"Neve-" He did not get to finish.

Impatient, Gerard let out another angered growl sounding almost like the very things he hunted, Stiles was forced forward, the lip of the pail cutting harshly into his chest as his face was submerged in iced water, pressing in on all sides almsot like a panic attack in which he couldn't wake from. He struggled involuntarily, muscles spasming even as his eyes clenched tightly shut and as his mouth moved wordlessly despite being closed he tried to force his head up, moving against the indestructable force of Gerards hand only to find the more he did so, the more he was submerged under. His vision tunnelled and his struggles grew weak, this was it, he was going to drown-

He let out a hug gasp, sucking in all the air he could as he was dragged upwards.

Gerard laughed.

"Not so strong now, are you boy?" Gerard taunted, perhaps like the child he had forbidden Chris and Kate to be. Stiles did not open his mouth, even though he deeply wished too; he knew that if he opened his mouth - even to deflect and taunt - he could give something vital away and if he did, if something happened to the pack, to Derek, Scott, Isaac, Erica or Boyd he would never forgive himself.

Gerard, anger and frustration evident in every move he made let out a grunt that sounded defeated but not at not being able to extract information for the soaken Stiles. Rather, he grapsed the back of Stiles' neck, making the collar bite into his neck before plunging his face back into the cold, sharply bitter water which splashed over the sides of the pail, large puddles collecting on the wooden floor.

He strained again, unwilling to open his mouth even the slightest bit even as he struggled against the hands holding him down. His eyes shut, already stinging from what seemed to be salt in the water as icecubes rattled around him, sharp and cold as he thrashed, his mind begging for the air he could no longer supply. His neck convulsed, thrashing even in the inhumanly strong grip Gerard had over him; but there were two other hands, holding his down even further into the pail, the lip of the it cutting into his chest as he choked, flailing incessantly even if he couldn't move his arms, blackness encroached on his vision, his head pounded even as his heart beat like a wardrum in his chest-

Stiles was once again forced upwards, by his neck even as he flipped his head backwards, gulping air down like he could never get enough of it.

"We don't seem to be getting anything from him Gerard," Someone else spoke, his voice was unfamilar no doubt one of the people Gerard had bought with him. When he was thrown to the ground, landing on his chest even as he coughed, he saw his other captor.

It was a hunter, tall and broad with red hair and cold blue eyes that stared down at Stiles with disgust, his face could have been handsome if he didn't look like he wanted to chew Stiles to pieces.

"Than what do you propose we do, David?"

The hunter - David - grinned wickedly, an odd glint in his eyes as he switched his gaze from that of Gerards' to the still dully bleeping collar firmly attached to Stiles' neck, Stiles was not comforted with Gerard, looking at David with what seemed to be pride, laughed loudly a dark edge to his voice.

"Put him back," Gerard demanded, turning his back to Stiles and David. As David neared him, Stiles kept seeing that smug, disgusted mug of his and his legs kicked out catching David sharp in the shin tumbling down to the floor. Angered and nearly as red at his ruffled hair, David cursed violently and grabbed Stiles flailing ankle and yanked him towards him.

"Sonofabitch!" He yelled, drawing Gerards attention to him even as he kept hold of Stiles' ankle as he stood before hauling his prisoner up and dumping him not at all gracefully in the uncomfortably in the wooden chair when he sat back with a groan before leaning forward, his hands aching as he inadvertly put weight onto his cuffed hands, bloodied and raw from where he had struggled.

"You'll pay for that, you little bitch!" David roared, hand pulling back, muscles bunching showing just how much strength he had at his disposal and catching Stiles straight in the face; he felt something giveway and a crack sounded and pain exploded in his eyesocket.

"Thats enough!" Gerard barked, hauling David out by the arm before shutting and locking the double doors behind him. It didn't stop David from kicking or punching the door, hoping it would give way and he could give that little smartass little bitch what was coming to him.

"Fucker!" Stiles hollered back at him, pain and fatigue straining his voice though he felt sick satisfaction at the way it caused David to punch the door and then yelp in pain, swearing and screaming obviousy having broken or fracture or dislocated him hand. Served him right. A hand caught him at the back of the head forcing him forward and knocking his face against the wood of the chair. He let out a pained groan, pain pulsing through every nerve ending as his fractured eyesocket was jarred.

When he forced himself back, he found Gerard was standing in front of him waving a little black device in the air even as he grinned at Stiles. When the teen noticed that the red light was blinking in time with the beeping from the collar attached to his neck, colour drained from his already pale face as he felt geniune fear race through his veins.

"So you know what this is," Gerard announced, voice cool. "Good,"

Stiles shook his head; no this wasn't good, this wasn't good. In fact it was bad, very bad. So very very bad. Gerard smirked.

"But before we can use it," Gerard started, and he sounded so fucking _disappointed_ that Stiles wanted to throw up. He might still. "We have to tie you down," His smirk had turned more into 'Sadistic Grin' as two other hunters who had been lurking in the shadows around the room savagely cut off the flexicuffs with one clearing the dining room table with a large sweep of his arm. Stiles was the viciously slammed into the table, before large reinforced steel chains were wrapped around his wrists and ankles.

Gerard nodded to the two hunters, making them back off. He stood between Stiles' splayed legs, looking down at him even as he caressed the little black device that Stiles couldn't help but eye with fear.

It was strange, that such a little device could devise so much pain onto something so much bigger than it.

Stiles was with fear as Gerard placed his finger on the little silver flip-switch. His breath hitched as it was flipped-

Pain. Agonising, unimaginable, gut wrenching, screaming pain enveloped him, almost like smoke as he screamed and cunvulsed all he could. Electricty crackled from his neck, burning and twisting as Stiles shuddered, back arching more than should be possible as blackness pervaded his vision. His hands clenched tightly, making his nails bite into his already bloodied palms. His fractured eyesocket rattled with each scream and with each movement Stiles made and his red raw wrists and ankles clattered and twisted as they tried to escape the pain, becoming even more raw as the chains rubbed against them.

When it was switched off, Stiles slumped relieved back onto the wood of the table. The chains clinked around him but still he shuddered, little twitches that rattld his teeth and hollowed his bones.

"Tells us what you know," Gerard started, leaning close and Stiles gagged as his breath fanned over his face. "And you can go free,"

He was going to die. He can feel it, he can feel it in the rattle of his hollow bones and in the pounding of his head, he could feel it in the empty rattling of his chest and in the twitching of his muscles. If dying means being tortured but still refusing to give information about his pack, than so be it.

"Ne-n-never," He rasped, eyesocket burning.

Gerard sighed with disappointment. "'Tis a shame," He murmured as he straightened, looking Stiles over with a critical eye that made Stiles want to shrivel up and _die_. "Such potential and it is to be wasted,"

_Hold the motherfucking phone_. "Potential? Me, never? I talk too much and I'm more clumsy than Bella Swan! Me, potential? Bah!" But Gerard shook his head, placing the little black device near Stiles left thigh.

"That's the problem with these wolfs," He mused, dragging the chair Stiles had been sat on to the dining table and proceeding to sit on it. Stiles gaped with both confusion and incredulity. "They get rid of a persons self-esteem because of their freakishly strong strenght and their annoyingly buff bodies and you can't even see it,"

_Okay, this was getting a little too much like Peter Hale and his bad touch fangs for his liking._

"But you, Stiles," Gerards voice was almost awed. "You're loyal, intelligent, a good tracker, a good manipulater and a wonderful researcher. We could use more of your talents yet they are wasted on those _dogs__" _He spat out the words 'dogs' like it was a personal insult.

"Hey now," Stiles mock-comforted. "I don't think Fido did anything to you," Gerard rolled his eyes insufferably.

"Shut up," He says. "Before it all goes to your stupid head," Stiles shrugged. He was jsut that good. "But back to business; tell me about the pack," He leaned forward, steepling his fingers together as he stared coldly down at his captive. Stiles shook his head. Gerard, grasping the little black device made a sound of disappointment in the back of his throat.

"Pity,"

Than that blasted device was on and Stiles was screaming.


End file.
